A Creature Was Stirring
by mossley
Summary: Things are afoot when Grissom and Sara try to celebrate their first Christmas together. GSR. A companion piece to "A Little Bit More."


**A Creature Was Stirring  
Summary: **Things are afoot when Grissom and Sara try to celebrate their first Christmas together. GSR. A companion piece to _A Little Bit More_.**  
A/N: **This is for augrasshopper, who responded to my Christmas offer to write stories for anyone who wanted one. I used her prompt as the opening line. It's not necessary to read _A Little Bit More_ first, but this would make more sense if you did. Thanks to VR Trakowski for looking this over for me. All mistakes are mine.**  
Rating: **PG**  
Disclaimer:** I don't own anything. Yes, I'm too tired to think of anything more original.

* * *

Upon opening the front door, their breaths were taken away. The tree was still decorated to perfection. The lights were aglow and they glinted off of the carefully placed ornaments, but everything was _... _sideways.

Grissom slowly set down the packages he carried, surveying the wreckage in disbelief; when Sara crossed the room quickly to examine the mess and disappeared into the bedroom at an even faster pace, his shoulders dropped in remorse.

"Oh, Hank," he said quietly.

All his plans, everything, were in ruins. He had so wanted this Christmas to be perfect for Sara. The holidays had never been happy for her, and he wanted to change that, to create a new beginning. To show her that they had a reason to celebrate – they had each other, and he was going to be there for Christmases to come.

Now, all the work he'd tricked her into doing was a mess.

It had all started at Thanksgiving. The lab had been swamped in the days prior to the holiday, so they hadn't made any special plans. He had thought to grab some vegetarian pumpkin soup from a bistro Sara favored, and he rounded out the meal with a rice and bean casserole, some roasted winter vegetables and a loaf of artisan bread.

Sara had given him a half-smirk when she came sleepily out of the bedroom as he was dishing everything up. "Special occasion?" she'd asked lightly.

"I wasn't sure what you'd want, so I had to improvise."

"It's not a big deal, Gris."

"Of course it is. It's our first Thanksgiving together."

That had drawn a fleeting smile from her, and he'd happily dug into the meal. He'd gradually started talking about his favorite holiday foods and memories, never noticing Sara's withdraw. It wasn't until he kept pressing her about her best holiday meal that he realized his mistake.

"One of the nurses at the ER made a great cake one year," she'd answered him.

That simple statement drove home the fact he wasn't thinking about: Her childhood had been horrible. Family life meant a world of violence, and he'd met few people that spoke fondly of their time in foster care. The holidays probably only served to highlight how different her life was from others, how isolated she was.

Upset that he'd ruined what had been a nice day alone together, Grissom vowed to make it up to her. He couldn't take away the pain of her past, but he could give her a happier future. He wanted to create traditions for them, to give her something to remember fondly and to look forward to each year.

In short, he wanted to give her the gift of Christmas.

Getting Sara to go along with it was another matter.

He'd tried to suggest various things they could do together to celebrate, but she hadn't seemed interested in any of them. The protective cynicism that usually showed up as wry amusement was in full display, and he'd been forced to take drastic measures. He'd dragged her to the store and resorted to picking out the ugliest and tackiest decorations he could find, knowing he'd eventually trigger her artistic side into revolt.

It had worked, too, and she'd reluctantly picked out the ornaments – he'd gone too far with the huge, ugly lights, though, as she let him keep those – and she'd even consented to a live tree. They'd spent their day off carefully deciding where to place it, decorating it and listening to her good-natured jibes about how silly it was to put so much effort into something they were never home enough to enjoy.

It was a start, but he'd known it was missing something. Once he thought of it, the solution had seemed obvious.

"What's this?" she'd asked him as he handed her the wrapped package two days later.

"An early present."

"Do you want me to open it now?"

"No, I planned on torturing you with it, knowing you're too curious. Now that you know it exists, I'm going to lock it away somewhere. You can spend the next couple weeks trying to figure out where I hid it."

"Have fun," she had laughed, taking the gift from with an inquisitive smile. The wrapping paper was soon transformed into confetti, and she looked at him askance. "It's a schedule. From the lab. You shouldn't have."

"Look closer."

The corners of her lips had curled. "Grissom – Home, Grissom – Home, Grissom – Home. You scheduled yourself to be at home?"

"With you."

She'd laughed then, and not in a particularly reassuring manner. "Well, you can do that to enjoy your tree for a while, but it's going to die before you have to make up the next schedule."

"I mean it, Sara. I want to spend more time with you, away from the lab. I am capable of doing something other than work."

At that point, she'd led him to the bedroom, but despite her very affectionate response, Grissom wasn't sure she completely believed his sincerity.

A few days later – when he was sure he was going to be late getting home, despite his promise – he had to stop at Dr. Marcel's office. She was one of the city's premier vets, and he'd consulted her several times on cases. He'd followed her around as she checked on various patients while she answered his questions on his latest case.

"Do you know anyone who'd like a dog?" she'd asked him as they finished up, and she paused in front of a cage. Inside was a woeful looking boxer, his chest bandaged up. "He's a sweet thing. One of the techs found him on the side of the road."

"What about the shelters?"

"They're full right now, and let's face it – he's barely a puppy anymore. He's going to need some medical care. He should make a full recovery, but he's not a likely candidate for adoption."

The puppy had started to whine, then, and slowly inched its way to the cage door. Grissom reached over to scratch his muzzle and was rewarded with a thorough licking. A smile had slowly formed.

"I'll take him."

He hadn't been thinking of a pet for himself. Sara adored animals, and he knew she'd fall in love with the injured boxer immediately. Hank – the name was unfortunate – was also a perfect way of demonstrating his commitment. They had to come home more often to take care of him. It was perfect.

Or so he had thought.

"Sara," he'd said over the phone after he'd transported the boxer to his townhouse. "You aren't home yet."

"Now I know why you get paid the big bucks. Your powers of observation are first rate."

"You're needed here. When can you make it?"

"Needed? Why, Gil, I think I'll see if I can find some more of that mistletoe for the bedroom."

"That's not what I meant," he'd laughed. "Not that I'm turning you down, but there's something here that needs your attention."

"What?"

"It's a bit hard to explain over the phone."

"You know that's going to drive me crazy until I find out what you're talking about," she said in mock-annoyance.

"Are you implying that I'm manipulating you into coming home earlier than you planned?"

"Implying my ass. I know what you're doing," she'd said.

"Is it working?"

"Yes," Sara had said with a sigh. "I'll be there within the hour."

Grissom was sitting calmly, two mugs of tea on the kitchen table when she came in. "Good, you're here."

"So, what couldn't you tell me over the phone?"

"Hank's waiting for you in the bedroom," he'd answered.

She stared at him for a long time, the cup of tea paused halfway to her mouth. After giving her a head a shake, she lowered the mug and cocked her head. "I'm sorry. What did you say?"

"Hank's waiting for you in the bedroom."

"Hank? Hank's here? In the bedroom."

"In bed, actually."

Sara stood silently for a moment before crossing her arms over her midsection. "Grissom, did you try smoking the mistletoe?"

"No," he'd answered sedately. "Why don't you go in? You shouldn't keep him waiting."

"Keep him _…_? Are you insane? Where the hell is he?" Sara stormed off to the bedroom, shedding her jacket along the way. Opening the bedroom door, she bellowed, "Hank!"

The puppy let out a whine and tried to bury himself deeper in his bed on the floor. Sara immediately softened her expression, sinking to her knees as she started to coo and gingerly pet his head. "Are you Hank? Are you a good boy? I bet you are. Who's the good boy? Your daddy isn't, and he's going to be sleeping on the floor with you."

"Merry Christmas," Grissom had whispered as he crouched behind her. "I told you I was serious about spending more time at home. Now we have another reason."

That had been a mere week ago, and he'd been so sure a dog would only cement their relationship. Looking at the wreckage of the tree – the tree Sara had spent hours meticulously decorating – Grissom wondered how he was going to fix this mess.

"Gris! You better get in here quick!" Sara called from the bedroom, a hint of nervousness in her voice.

He hurried to join her, finding her on the floor by the bed. "What's wrong?"

"Hank won't come out from under the bed. I can't tell if he's hurt. You try calling him out."

He let out a huff of breath; that was another thing – Hank insisted on being _his_ dog. Sara was loved, but he was the center of the dog's universe.

"See if you can get him out," Sara repeated, scooting over on the floor so he could see under the bed.

"Hank, come here," he said, receiving a weak whine in return.

"Oh, man, I hope he didn't hurt his ribs. We have to get him out from under there."

Grissom laid down on the floor while Sara held the edge of the comforter up. "Come here. Come on, boy. Get out from under there."

Whining all the time, Hank slowly crawled out from under the bed, his eyes wide open. He was trembling, and Sara quickly wrapped an arm around him.

"Are you okay, fellow? Hmm?" she said in a soft voice as she examined him. "I don't think he hurt himself."

"Hank," Grissom said sternly, shrugging when Sara shot him an annoyed look. It was too late to discipline him for knocking the tree over, but he was still disappointed in the dog.

"Don't blame him. It's all your fault," she said, scratching Hank's favorite spots.

"It is?" he asked as he rolled over and sat up.

"I told you it was a mistake to make those gingerbread ornaments. Poor Hank was left here all alone, having to smell those. No wonder he knocked the tree over," she said, making funny noises at him to help reassure the puppy.

"You're not angry?"

"Of course not. He didn't know any better, did you, boy? You're not a lumberjack, are you? You scared yourself silly. Did the tree make a big noise when it fell?"

"You're not upset?"

"Gil, why would I be upset? The tree's okay. See if we have any wall mollies and wire, and I'll attach it to the wall so he can't knock it over again," she said, getting up and brushing her hands. "We'll have to remember to do that next year, too."

Grissom smiled contently as he slipped his arm around her waist, slapping his thigh to let Hank know he was to follow them. As he went to fetch his toolkit, he watched Sara carefully plucking the gingerbread ornaments off the tree. Hank sat on the couch, snuffling as his sense of smell battled his sense of fear.

Things hadn't gone the way he planned, but he wasn't complaining. It was a holiday memory they were sure to remember in the years ahead, together. He couldn't think of a better Christmas present.

* * *

**A/N II:** I'll be taking part in the Help Haiti fandom auction. I'm offering to write a fanfic of 1,000 – 10,000 words to the winning bidder. See my profile for details.


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